


The Wrong End of the Gun

by whumpsie_daisy



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Dick Grayson is Nightwing, FebuWhump2021, Gen, Head Injury, Held at Gunpoint, Hurt Dick Grayson, Hurt/Comfort, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:47:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29138058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whumpsie_daisy/pseuds/whumpsie_daisy
Summary: The sound of a gun’s safety being removed was recognisable, even in the midst of a fist fight. Dick wouldn’t have given it much thought though, had it not been for the proximity. He trusted his own abilities to dodge bullets after all these years fighting alongside Batman. After all, when people are shooting at you on an almost nightly basis, you get quite a bit of practice at it.When a stakeout with Batman goes wrong, Dick finds himself on the wrong end of the gun.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 72





	The Wrong End of the Gun

**Author's Note:**

> It’s February. Which means I’m having a go at completing the easiest month long writing challenge. After all, February has the least days! This takes place at some ethereal point in or out of canon. It’s just a bit of fun really. Enjoy!

The sound of a gun’s safety being removed was recognisable, even in the midst of a fist fight. Dick wouldn’t have given it much thought though, had it not been for the proximity. He trusted his own abilities to dodge bullets after all these years fighting alongside Batman. After all, when people are shooting at you on an almost nightly basis, you get quite a bit of practice at it. 

However, this gun sounded a lot closer than most, which meant that someone had managed to sneak up behind him. That was… concerning, to say the least. 

All of these thoughts had taken no more than a second to pass through Dick’s mind as he punched one of the would-be bombers flat out. But that meant that he had no time at all to escape the cold metal which pressed against the base of his skull. 

“That’s enough,” a voice behind him said, loud enough that it echoed off the walls of the warehouse they were in. Dick went still as the muzzle of the gun, because that’s all it could have been, nudged closer against his skin. The voice had been cool and collected, like they were used to being obeyed. Dick had no doubt it belonged to the man behind these nameless goons. 

Around him, Dick could make out the smug grins of his assailants as they realised his plight. The one still clutching his probably broken arm looked particularly vindictive as he shuffled closer to the action. If any of them decided to take their revenge, Dick would be powerless to stop them now. A punch to the stomach would be less fatal than a bullet to the head, after all. 

Across the room, the shadows shifted until they coalesced into a cape and cowl. Beneath the mask, Dick could tell instantly that Bruce was furious. He took another step forward, letting a shaft of moonlight fall over half his face. Yeah, he was pissed. 

In the same moment, the gun moved from the back of his neck to shoved under his jaw, pressing hard against his jugular. Dick swallowed, trying to ignore the way the gun rolled with the motion. This was fine, he’d dealt with worse before, he could deal with this. The man holding the gun tutted. “I think that’s close enough, don’t you?” 

Bruce went still and Dick could almost see the gears whirring in his mind. No doubt beneath the lenses of the cowl he was cataloguing every detail: distances between people, amount of weaponry on show, any weak points. Of course, all of that was pointless if Dick couldn’t get out of range. Bruce seemed to realise this too. 

“What do you want?” he growled.

The man with the gun sounded positively thrilled. “Ah, so he does talk.” Dick could hear the grin in his words. “I should think that was obvious to such a great detective,” he mused. 

When Bruce didn’t reply, the man tutted once more. “I’m going to leave here in one piece, with the merchandise I came here to buy. And you’re going to let me.” 

Dick couldn’t help it, perhaps it was hysteria setting in, but he laughed. “Yeah, and Joker’s gonna stay in Arkham,” he snorted. “It’s a beautiful world you’re dreaming up there, pal.” 

A hand grabbed his hair, yanking his head back as the gun was shoved deeper into his skin. “I’d be quiet if I were you,” Gun guy hissed. Dick caught a glimpse of faded blonde hair and a dodgy tan in his periphery. They never got any less tacky, these business types. “I told you to stay where you are!” he yelled suddenly, making Dick wince. Bruce must have shifted, but Dick couldn’t see a thing as his head was yanked back until he was staring into the rafters. 

“Stay where you are, or I’ll blow his face off!” He was openly screaming now, the cool facade of a boss shattering as his resolve began to fail. Dick could use that to his advantage… he just hoped Bruce wouldn’t ruin it. 

“Aw come on, you wouldn’t destroy something this good-looking,” he quipped, letting a confidence he certainly didn’t feel seep into his voice. “I mean, you know as well as I do, you have to put the effort in, right?” 

“I said, shut it.”

“By the way, I’d suggest investing in a new mirror. You’ve some patches in your tan that really dampen the overall effect.” 

“Shut up!” 

The gun twitched and Dick threw himself to the ground. The resulting chaos sent him spinning as the shot screamed past his ear. His head rang and he staggered back, knowing that Bruce would swoop in to take his place. He felt, rather than saw, the crowbar coming for his ribs and didn’t quite manage to dodge out of the way as it glanced off his reinforced suit. No real damage done, but he was sure to have a bruise there in the morning. 

The blow had given him enough momentum to tumble out of the fight, landing in a crumpled heap behind a stack of crates. His ear was still ringing from the gunshot. Taking the brief respite, he reached up and brushed past his ear. Pain lanced through his head at even the barest touch. As he snatched his hand away, he realised it had come away wet. 

Now that he knew it was there, the pain tripled and Dick fought the need to curl up and hide. Batman needed him back in the field. He was no use to him hiding back here. 

With a soft groan, he began struggling to his feet, only to freeze when the world tilted and his vision whited out. Right, that wasn’t a good sign. Neither was the nausea creeping up his throat. With a soft huff, Dick eased himself back against the crates. At least if he stayed here, Bruce wouldn’t have to keep an eye on him. He could already imagine the disapproving look he’d get once he found him though. 

It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes, all told, as Dick slipped between awareness and darkness. His head throbbed in the moments he was awake, a screeching pulsing noise filling his ear. He didn’t even realise the fighting had finished until a cape billowed out in front of him. 

“-right there, Chum?” Bruce asked. He sounded distant, though that could have been due to the ringing ear, and uncharacteristically soft. Dick peered up at him with his wavering vision. 

Beneath the cowl, Bruce frowned. Dick could only see the corners of his mouth turn down, but he knew him well enough to imagine the rest of the face. “How’s the head?” he asked. 

“Hurts.” 

Bruce huffed out a laugh. “I suppose that makes sense. What were you thinking, winding him up like that? You knew what he’d do and-” he stopped abruptly, eyeing his former protege for a moment before sighing. “You know what, nevermind. Let’s just get you back to the cave,” he muttered as he scooped an arm around Dick’s shoulders, helping to haul him to his feet.


End file.
